


Love Bugs

by SugarsweetRomantic



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff, I'm a sucker for AUs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, what can you do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Bridget Westfall owns a cosy little flower shop. Usually, the store doesn't see much action and excitement besides the cat trying to catch a fly every now and then. When a brunette suddenly storms through the door, requesting an unusual arrangement, she doesn't know that this very woman is about to turn her life upside down.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Since Twitch is now finished, and because I just adore alternate universes: here; have a prologue! ;)

A small shop hidden behind a tall tree on a busy crossing in Melbourne was decorated in bright colours and handwritten signs. A plump ginger tabby cat stretched in the display window, nearly pushing a wreath to the floor. It was a calm day, so the owner and her only employee had some time to wipe down the counters and rearrange the bouquets. The blonde proprietor hummed along softly to the pop ballad on the radio as she carefully lifted two orchids to inspect them more closely, when suddenly a woman stormed through the door, nearly taking the small bell down to the floor in her force. Setting the delicate flowers back into their basin, the blonde turned towards the hurried customer. Smiling gently, she asked: “Good afternoon, how may I help you?” The woman pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and slapped it onto the counter.

“How do you passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower? ‘Cause if you can do that, that’d be fan-fucking-tastic.” The customer impatiently hopped from one foot onto the other, her brunette ponytail slowly coming undone. Her red flannel shirt was nearly slipping off of one shoulder, and her eyes were hidden beneath thick layers of black eyeshadow and eyeliner. 

Bridget could swear she could sense Vera’s eyes bulging out of her head behind her. Grinning, she replied: “Alright, give me a moment.” She walked to the back of the store and picked a few orange and white flowers, before walking back to the front windows and adding violet blossoms to her arrangement. The brunette eyed the assortment curiously. Her eyes were a magnificent shade of green, much brighter than any flower Bridget could produce from her stockpile.

“That looks way too nice to mean ‘fuck you’.” A deep laugh that vibrated through Bridget’s chest escaped her, and she heard Vera mumble: “I’ll be in the back.” 

“Oh, but looks can be deceiving, Miss,” the blonde replied. She pointed at the different types of flowers as she explained: “Here, I’ve got geraniums, which represent stupidity, foxglove for insincerity, meadowsweet which stands for uselessness, and orange lilies, for hatred.” Arranging the blossoms into a bouquet, she suddenly dropped them back onto the counter and grasped a flower from the vase that was decorating the register. “And this will complete it: this yellow carnation stands for ‘this has disappointed me’. Will that work?”

The customer smirked.

“It’s fantastic.”

“We could also deliver it for you, if that’s easier,” Bridget offered. It had become quite a large bouquet. That happened a lot; she managed to get carried away often while trying to create the perfect arrangement. 

“Yeah? Sure, that sounds good. Saves me the trip, I guess.” Nodding, Bridget grabbed an order form and a pen and handed it to the brunette. 

“If you could fill this out, we’ll have it delivered by seven if it’s in the city, or by tomorrow if it’s farther away,” she explained, smiling. 

“Sure thing.” While the customer wrote down her personal details, Bridget finished completing the bouquet and called out towards the back of the small shop: “Vera? Don’t load the truck just yet; got another one for Fletch.” 

“Okay,” her employee softly responded. The woman finished filling out the form and handed it back to Bridget. A loud clap of thunder outside followed, causing the cat who was still lounging between the window dressing to startle awake and scurry across the tiles, hiding between Bridget’s feet and the counter. 

“Don’t worry, George, it’s just outside, sweetheart,” she comforted the cat, bending to pet his head. The brunette grunted, and Bridget eyed her curiously.

“I forgot to bring an umbrella today, and I have to walk back to the station,” she clarified. Bridget pointed to the umbrella stand by the door. A hand-painted sign indicated:  _ Please, take me to keep you dry. Get a gift if you return me once the sun’s out again!  _ Grinning, the customer did as the sign told her.

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” Bridget replied. And that was that; the brunette walked into the rain with the pastel green umbrella with  _ Busy Bee Blossoms, Melbourne _ spelt out on the fabric and disappeared from her sight. Bridget gazed down at the form in her hands.  _ Name: Franky Doyle _ . She forced the slight flutter of butterflies in her abdomen to calm down and walked out back towards Vera with the bouquet in her arms. 

“I’ll deliver this one myself,” she announced, grabbing a travel box for the bouquet. She needed to see for herself why this  _ Mike Pennisi  _ deserved such a beautiful, fragrant insult.


	2. A Fresh Start

Bridget’s eyes grew huge as she realised where she was headed with the so eloquent bouquet:  _ L’Escargot Visqueux _ , one of the most luxurious and expensive restaurants of Melbourne. She had been there only once before, to deliver flowers for a wedding, and even the entrance hall was impressive. 

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?” a young man dressed in a three-piece suit asked her.

“No, I…” she began, but he immediately held up a hand. 

“Reservations need to be made at least five months in advance, Miss. I must ask you to leave now.” Well, that wasn’t very friendly, now was it? Suddenly a voice called out: “Westfall?” Smiling, Bridget turned to the source of the excited exclamation. 

“Sonia Stevens?” The raven-haired woman walked over to her and pulled her into an exaggerated embrace, kissing her cheeks. 

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Sonia announced, taking in her appearance. “Still working with dirt, I see?” Bridget had to suppress an eye roll. “What are you doing here?” The blonde took some time to look at Sonia’s appearance. Dressed in a long black evening gown, she was channelling what seemed to be Morticia Addams, or perhaps the Wicked Witch of the East. She was even wearing red Louboutins to complete the outfit. Silently, she wondered whether she’d indeed taken them off of Nessarose Thropp. It wouldn’t surprise her, quite honestly. Clearing her throat, she held up the bouquet.

“These are for Mike Pennisi, from Franky Doyle.” Eyeing the flowers, Sonia suddenly called out: “Someone, get the chef, please!” Within seconds, a middle-aged man appeared, his apron greasy and stained. 

“What is it, Stevens? I’m busy,” he grumbled, wiping his hands on his smock. Bridget doubted whether that would help increase the cleanliness, but accepted his handshake nevertheless. 

“These are for you, from Doyle,” Sonia clarified. Mike took one look at the flowers before smacking them to the floor. 

“She can keep ‘em.”

Rolling her eyes, Bridget knelt to gather the bouquet once more, unsuspectedly helped by a young girl who rushed in from the kitchen. Smiling gratefully, she whispered: “Thank you.”

“You can leave too, Susan. This is not your job.” Sonia’s command was emotionless, just like Bridget had gotten to know her in secondary school. How lovely.

“I was just trying to help!” the girl protested. “You always say messes need to be cleaned up immediately!” Deciding her remaining there would only make things worse, Bridget quickly left  _ L’Escargot Visqueux _ . As she was leaning against her small car, trying to decide what to do with the flowers, she watched ‘Susan’ walk out of the building, sniffling softly. Approaching her, she asked: “Hey, are you okay?” 

“Wankers fuckin’ fired me. Now I’ve got no job. But it wasn’t fair for those pretty flowers to end up on the floor, hey. Such a waste.” Susan shrugged. “I especially like the big yellow one.” 

“That’s a carnation,” Bridget replied. Nodding, Susan came closer and carefully caressed the petals of the carnation. 

“It’s real pretty. Wish I could work with flowers. I’ve only ever done cleaning.” Susan stuffed her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans. Pursing her lips, Bridget remained silent for a few seconds before reaching into her purse and pulling out a business card.

“Come see me at my shop tomorrow. I could use a student.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this fic, I promise!


	3. Thanks a Bunch!

True to her word, Susan nervously entered the shop at ten in the morning the following day. She was hopping from one foot onto the other, until Vera asked: “May I help you?” Susan took small steps to the counter and dropped the crumpled-up business card onto the glass surface. Vera’s face scrunched up as she inspected it, turning it over with a single finger.

“A blonde lady gave this to me and said to come here,” Susan explained, shoving her hands back into her pockets. Vera nodded curtly and walked towards the back of the shop, approaching Bridget. The blonde florist was going through the ordered flowers that had just come in, arranging them by type and quality. Pursing her lips, she shook her head at the rose in her hands. It had only arrived an hour ago, but it was already losing its petals. She would have to speak to Fletch about this, though she suspected it wasn’t her driver’s fault, but the supplier’s. Channing Flower Auction was expensive but lazy, and she was seriously considering changing back over to Christensen’s instead.

“One for the drying book?” Vera commented. Nodding, Bridget laid the wilting bloom to the side and tilted her head.

“Is there something wrong, Vera?” It was unlike the brunette to leave the front of the shop unless a problem had arisen. 

“There’s a young woman here. She said you gave her your card?” At the mention of the girl, Bridget broke out into a smile. 

“That has to be Susan. Tell her I’ll be right there, please?”

 

When Bridget made her way to the front a few minutes later, she found Susan admiring the discounted bouquets. Walking over to her, she softly announced: “I’m glad you came, Susan.” The girl looked up at her with a bit of a blank expression, before smiling and reaching out to shake Bridget’s hand.

“It was real nice of you to offer me this, hey, so I thought I could give it a shot? And, uh, everyone calls me Boomer.” 

“Boomer, huh? Alright then, Boomer it is. I’m Bridget Westfall. I take it you’ve met Vera by now?” the blonde asked, nodding towards the woman manning the register. The brunette shot them a tense, polite smile before focusing on the numbers in front of her again. “Then I’ll show you the shop now, and explain what I’d like your help with, and then you can decide whether you want to stay here at the end of the day. Sound good?” 

Boomer grinned broadly.

“It’s a deal, Miss Westfall!”

 

As the late afternoon approached, Bridget found herself daydreaming while she arranged an array of bouquets a local theatre company had ordered for their performers on their opening night. She was going to deliver them herself and attend the play tonight. Bridget considered herself a lover of the arts, and she had gotten a free ticket in exchange for discounts on the flowers. Yesterday’s foul-mouthed brunette customer was making up quite a bit of her current fantasy, especially the softness of her skin under the blonde’s fingertips when she’d handed her the pen. Shaking her head, she turned her focus back to the flowers in her hands. Daydreaming was nice, but that was all it was. Besides, she doubted she’d get the umbrella back. She rarely did, but it was free advertising in a way when people used them, so she didn’t really mind.

 

“So, Boomer,” Bridget called out as the final customer of the day exited the store, “would you like to work here?”

“Are ya sure you want me?” the girl asked, helping Vera take the leftover bouquets into the cooling cell. Bridget chuckled.

“Of course!”

“Then, yeah, definitely!” 

“I’ll get you a contract tomorrow, then.” Bridget reached into the register and grabbed a few bills. “And this is for today.” Boomer only stared at her. “You didn’t think I was going to make your work for free, now did you?” the blonde asked, offering her the money. 

 

After waving goodbye to Vera and Boomer, Bridget quickly made her way upstairs. Living above her shop definitely had its merits, and tonight it meant she could quickly grab a sandwich and get changed into a dress and heels for the premiere of the play. Expensive clothing was her one weakness - well, apart from foul-mouthed brunettes, it seemed - and her profession didn’t really allow for wearing that on a daily basis.  _ Should’ve become a businesswoman or a psychologist or something _ , she told herself.  _ Yeah, right _ . 

 

The distance from her shop to the theatre was a short one, so Bridget decided to walk, having sent Fletch to deliver the bouquets earlier that day. Arriving at the large building she flashed the security guard her invitation and he let her through. The venue was bustling with people. She ordered a sparkling water at the bar and sipped it quietly, waiting for the doors to open. 

A gentle chime announced the show was starting soon, so Bridget hopped off of the bar stool she was sitting on and made her way to the rows of seats, mentally counting until she reached row 9, seat 22. It was right on the end of the row, so she had only one person who would be sitting next to her. The audience slowly began filling up the room, and the chair next to Bridget remained empty. If she was being completely honest, she preferred it that way. Making small talk with a stranger was not something she had been looking forward to doing. The lights dimmed and music began playing, and Bridget relaxed into the soft cushions, her attention completely devoted to what was happening on stage. 

As the first actor began speaking, suddenly she heard a whispered: “Excuse me, sorry,” next to her. 

“Franky Doyle?” she whispered in response. The brunette looked down at her in confusion.

“Do I know you?”


	4. Will You Be My Flower Girl?

Blushing, Bridget mumbled: “Sorry, I must be mistaken.” She found herself making herself as small as possible in her chair whilst wondering whether there was anything she could do to make the ground swallow her whole. It couldn't be completely physically impossible, could it? Suddenly Franky chuckled. Taking the seat next to her, she commented: “Busy Bee Blossoms, right? I've still got your umbrella in the boot of my car.” Behind them, an older gentleman shushed loudly. Franky rolled her eyes and slouched back into the plush material of the chair, her left leg pressing against Bridget's right. The blonde wasn't sure whether she was glad or regretting that she had chosen to forego a pair of stockings tonight, but in any case the physical contact was shooting butterflies through her nerves, settling in her lower abdomen as a soft fluttering sensation. Leaning over, Franky whispered: “A patron of the arts?” Bridget smiled.

“Something like that.”

“Mysterious. I like it.” Another annoyed huff followed from the man seated behind them. Both women rolled their eyes. While Bridget tried to concentrate on the stage again, Franky commented: “It's not the fucking Opera House hey.” 

The man shushed her again.

Groaning, Franky got up and announced: “Listen mate, if you can't handle two lesbians whispering, we'll head out of here and go make out in the parking lot so you can enjoy your precious play.” Nodding towards the stage, she added: “Sorry for all the ruckus.” She grabbed Bridget's hand and, ignoring her soft protests, pulled her out of her seat and out of the building. 

Giggling loudly, the brunette settled against a wall, leaving the blonde standing between her chest and the bricks. 

“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed. “God he was annoying.” Bridget let out a whole-hearted laugh.

“The scene you just caused may have outshone the actual play.” As she made her statemenf, she let her hands slide along the lapels of Franky's blazer.

“Now what?” Franky wondered out loud. Smirking, Bridget responded: “Well, you  _ did  _ promise him we'd be doing something here...though I live nearby, and that might be more comfortable, as teenagery as this plan sounds.”

“I don't even know your name,” Franky admitted.

“Bridget. It's Bridget.”

Gently pressing her lips against Bridget's, Franky whispered: “Lead the way, flower girl.”

 

~Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter! 
> 
> I'm currently also working on Lima Delta (Fridget, FreakyTits, Ballie), The Girl under the Lantern (Fridget, Flera) & the final two chapters of Le Long de la Route (Vidget). 
> 
> And for those of you who also read my non-Wentworth works: Built to Heal (CSI Yo!Bling) and From Crawley to Versailles (Assassin's Creed: Unity & Syndicate Evie/Élise) will be updated in the near future as well!  
> Besides that, some CSI GSR smut will eventually be coming too.
> 
> {Please, someone...tell my muse it's okay to only focus on one fic at a time! ;)}


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